Imagination, Faith And Magic (Part One)

Perhaps it's the difference between country folk and city folk - but then again, perhaps not. She could not say why some people disliked rain. And, truth be known, she never even troubled with the question long enough to stand in the Rain-Haters' galoshes - much less, under their umbrellas. For her, those who ran for cover at the first sprinkle, those who grumbled and complained when the game was cancelled, those who worried and fussed with copious quantities of hairspray were utterly lost - thrown, if you will, into the outer darkness of a perfectly cloudless day.

She came from farm-stock. She came from the gardens and the meadows and the woods, and for her, rain was the sweet wine of the gods. No galoshes allowed - we tread this wine with our bare feet. No umbrellas allowed - we throw back our heads and drink in the life. We toast the trees and the grass and the tomato vine, and with all God's creatures, we close our eyes, breathe in deeply and sigh with satisfaction as the dark, curvaceous clouds dance overhead.

Which is why the sudden brokenness of her deep, rain-induced contentment startled her on that cloudy day in May in the little coffee-shop with books.

It was a man.

"Ah", you say, "love!"

No, no - that is not the tale I am telling. This man came hurrying across the street from the Used Tire Store and bounded into her coffee shop. He wore khaki pants and a denim shirt with a tie - yes, a tie. A very sensible tie - navy blue with deep red swirls. His hair was perfect - copious amounts of hairspray she was sure. His smile was perfect. His tan was perfect.

And, for all her effort, she could not help the gag reflex which further caused the hand reflex which promptly caused the napkin to fly from the wooden table and press itself against her mouth...just in case.

Doom and despair descended on her.

No, it wasn't that he was a Rain-Hater. Those people were everywhere, and as I already mentioned, she barely gave these people a thought. It was something else.

And now, how to describe to you the leap our heroine makes from a used-tire salesmen to her most insightful conclusion? Truly, that is such a stony, thorny, convoluted path I doubt the nimblest mountain goat scampering over the Rockies could navigate it.

So.

So, I beg of you, let the salesman be painted on the backdrop and now focus your attention down center. For you see, what she came to realize was that she had pushed reason as far as she could.

Not that she had pushed reason to reason's limit, mind you. Though she was quite arrogant, she wasn't quite that arrogant. And she didn't claim to have reasoned all things to her limit, only some things. But she suddenly saw these some things at their dead end - a dead end darkened by perfect, cloudless sunlight.

To be continued...

posted by Headless-in-GR @ 9/09/2006 04:20:00 PM